


plus-minus-plus

by birdginia



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Date Rape, Fish Puns, M/M, Partial Mind Control, Statutory Rape, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18820645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdginia/pseuds/birdginia
Summary: Mag takes him down a hallway at the back of the dance floor, leading him with one hand on his waist. It feels weird, being touched so easily by someone he barely knows, but not... bad. Lyco figures he'll get used to adult stuff like this.





	plus-minus-plus

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was written for two reasons:
> 
> 1\. for the "music" prompt of my self-imposed [mind control bingo](https://twitter.com/Slotheyyyyy/status/1121590253540794368?s=19) challenge
> 
> 2\. I've been looking for an excuse for everyone to meet my dumb squid ocs and acknowledge my "inklings have elaborate sex clubs all over inkopolis" headcanons

The rush of adrenal-ink as the bouncer lets Lyco through the doors of the club leaves him dizzy, so much so that he nearly crashes into the first legitimate patron he sees.

"Whoa there," the guy says, reaching out to steady Lyco's shoulders. "Someone pregame too hard?"

Lyco looks up—and up—damn, this dude is tall. Also, _hot_ , holy shit, all strong cartilage structure and bright gold hair that would probably look gaudy outside of the colorful lights of the club. He's got a long, white jacket that only accentuates how coddamn tall he is, and Lyco can't see much behind the guy's sunglasses (indoors? Really? Is that cool?) but his smile is wide and relaxed, his beak practically glittering.

"You good?" The guy speaks up again, and Lyco stops staring.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good, just, uh." His brain searches wildly for a better excuse than _I was so excited my fake ID didn't get busted that I didn't see the hot stranger standing all cool at the edge of the dance floor_ but nothing comes up, leaving him opening and closing his mouth like a dumb Salmonid.

Somehow, miraculously, the guy doesn't get bored of this idiot weirdo and leave. Instead, he holds out a hand and says "I'm Mag. Wanna dance?"

Lyco nods wordlessly.

He doesn't generally consider himself a bad dancer—he's impressed at least a few jellies at Splatfests in between matches—but Mag is like, on another level. He matches every song like he made the playlist himself, twisting his body in ways that don't seem possible at that speed, and even though he gets a couple of hollers from the rest of the crowd, he never takes his eyes off Lyco.

At least, Lyco’s pretty sure he doesn't. It's hard to tell with the sunglasses. But it sure feels like it.

A slightly softer song comes on, and Mag pulls Lyco aside to the bar, ordering something he can't hear over the noise.

"So, how old are you?"

Lyco freezes. "Nine—eighteen." The card Murch sold him says nineteen, but eighteen probably sounds less fishy, right? Closer to fifteen, at least.

Mag laughs, and that's it, he's gonna get kicked out, he's gonna get barred from Splatfests forever, he's gonna fail out of school and get drafted into the Inkperial Army, he—

Mag puts a drink in Lyco's hand and leans down to murmur into his ear, "Don't worry about it. I won't tell."

Lyco sucks at the straw of his drink. It tastes like regular juice.

"I actually did the same thing at your age," Mag says, taking a sip of his own drink but still leaning down so nobody else can hear. "I needed something a little more exciting than getting splatted by kids my age, y'know?"

Lyco nods. He likes turfing, a lot actually, but when he started hearing whispers about all the things older Inklings do—drinking, listening to age-restricted music, going to those shops with all the gear that looks like it barely covers your skin—he started getting curious enough to try and experience it for himself.

And just like he thought, it's super cool. Even if he is just drinking juice.

"Come on," Mag says as they both finish their drinks, "There's another room you haven't seen."

Mag takes him down a hallway at the back of the dance floor, leading him with one hand on his waist. It feels weird, being touched so easily by someone he barely knows, but not... bad. Lyco figures he'll get used to adult stuff like this.

The music starts to fade out behind them as they go, but when they get into the room at the end of the hall and close the door behind them, he can't hear it at all. Part of that is probably because there's a different song playing in this room, one that's a lot slower, but still with steady, pounding drums and voices that make him want to do... something. Not dance, but something.

His head actually kind of feels like it does when he hears the Inkantation, that same feeling of being pulled along into the music regardless of what he'd been doing earlier, and the weird buzzy way his thoughts start to fade and get replaced by the lyrics. But instead of pumping him up, this song makes him want to sit down on one of the comfy-looking couches scattered around the room, and before he knows it, he's slumped against Mag's shoulder, letting himself sink into the squishy cushions.

"How you feeling?" Mag asks, and Lyco opens his mouth to answer but gets distracted by the feeling of the material of Mag's jacket on his lips. He rubs his face gently against it, not quite kissing it, just curiously touching, and he startles a little when it moves on its own—oh, Mag's laughing.

"Yeah, first time's a doozy."

First time... leaning on someone? No, wait, the music. It's his first time hearing it. It's nice.

"You like it?"

Lyco nods. He likes everything right now, from the way Mag's voice sounds to the way his shoes feel on his feet.

"C'mere," Mag says, and starts pulling Lyco into his lap. Mag has good ideas, like coming to this room, so Lyco lets him.

Then they're kissing, and, whoa. Whoa. Post-Splatfest makeout parties at his rich buddy Sepio's place are one thing, this is like, _intimate_. It feels like he's being touched everywhere at once, even though he can vaguely track the progression of Mag's hands going from his shoulders, to his waist, to his ass, back to his waist, to his hair, tugging slightly at his ponytail so his head tilts up and Mag can kiss his jaw, his neck. Nothing feels rushed or desperate, like at the makeout parties, everything is just slow and relaxed and it feels so fucking good that Lyco can't help but moan out loud.

As soon as he realizes what he's done, Lyco bites down on his lip, beak almost tearing through skin. He looks around the room to see if anyone heard, because, fuck, that was embarrassing.

Mag puts a hand on his cheek, and Lyco looks back at him. "What's up?"

"I just—uh—“

"You can be loud. No one will mind." He gestures across the room. "See?"

Lyco looks, and maybe he should have looked around a little earlier rather than let the music blindside him immediately, because, uh, wow. There's another Inkling sitting in another one of the couches, with a hand down another girl's pants. The girl has her eyes closed and is breathing hard, but Lyco can barely hear any noise from her over the distance and the music.

Oh.

Ohhhhh.

"Oh."

Mag plants another kiss on Lyco's temple. "See? You're fine. Everything's fine, right?"

Lyco blinks, and the song changes, sending another wave of incredible chill through him. Yeah. It's fine.

"Good," Mag says, and starts touching him again, hands creeping under the hem of his tank. Something about the sudden skin contact makes Lyco press his forehead into Mag's shoulder and start panting, his hips wiggling in Mag's lap to urge him on, and the movement makes it extremely clear to Lyco what all this attention is doing to his dick. His shorts are pretty tight—he didn't have anything sexier to wear than his usual splat gear—so it must be pretty obvious to Mag, too.

Mag laughs softly and Lyco’s face burns. "Is this what you've been waiting for all night?" His hands come around to settle on Lyco's waist, thumbs digging into the hard line of his hips. "You should've just asked."

Lyco doesn't answer, too overcome with how much he needs Mag's hands on him, in him, he's panting a wet spot into the material of Mag's jacket with how much he wants it. Thankfully, Mag gets the message, and after some more awkward wriggling, his shorts are pulled down past his thighs, and he has his shirt pulled up and held there by his mouth.

Mag whistles, and Lyco swears he can see himself flush teal all across his chest. Is anyone looking? He starts to glance around, but Mag puts a hand to his cheek, lowering his sunglasses with the other. 

"Let them look. You're coddamn gorgeous."

Lyco feels his embarrassment melt away completely as he looks in Mag's eyes, hungry and needy and all for _him_. This is what he came here for.

Mag starts with two fingers right away, which would probably hurt if he wasn't already so fucking wet—it's a good thing Mag's pants aren't also white, because Lyco's spilling ink onto his knees already. He grabs Mag around the neck and tries to position himself the best he can to get the angle he wants. It's a lot more difficult than when he does this alone. But Mag's clearly done this before (of course he has, he looks, like, over twenty, he must have had tons of sex by now) because then he curls his fingers in a way that makes Lyco bite down harder on his shirt until he thinks he’s going to tear it in half.

He doesn't know when Mag undid his own fly, but at some point Lyco opens his eyes and sees that Mag’s dick is out, huge and shiny and weirdly hard, stiffer than his own ever gets. From some of the porn he's seen, it seems like a lot of people are into that, but Lyco always figured it'd be better to have someone with a more flexible appendage, like his.

Then Mag lifts him up by the ass and slams him down with barely any more prep, and. Oh. Never mind.

It's _big_ , bigger than even three of Lyco's fingers, which is as far as he's ever gone, and it hurts enough that there's definitely a hole in his shirt now that he'll have to ask Fern to fix for him later. He's wet enough that the slide is smooth, but not as slow as he'd take it if gravity wasn't working against him.

Mag lets out a breath against Lyco's ear that tickles hotly. "Fuck, is this your first?"

Lyco nods, eyes screwed shut.

He doesn't see what kind of face Mag makes in response, but his hips jerk up _hard_ and sparks flash behind Lyco's eyes.

"Holy carp do that again," Lyco blurts out, and he doesn't have time to be embarrassed before Mag does do it again, and again, fucking into him in places he could never reach on his own, and _oh_ , that's what people mean when they talk about pressing on your ink sac from the inside. It feels like Mag's dick is squeezing everything out of him—his breath, his voice, the drops of ink coming out of his own cock with every thrust, leaving little stains on Mag's pants and his own stomach as it writhes around. He wants to touch himself, but he's still holding on to the back of Mag's neck for dear life, so all he can do is whine and let his cock wriggle uselessly.

Thankfully, Mag is the best squid in the world, because he takes one hand off Lyco's hip and starts stroking him, and Lyco curls the tapered end of his cock around a finger gratefully. He puts the rest of his energy into riding Mag hard, something in him eager to show off his muscle strength (they don't call it a Heavy Splatling for nothing, after all).

"You're a natural," Mag says in his ear, and Lyco feels his face burn. "I bet everyone here is jealous that I get to have the best little fuck in the room."

Lyco finally drops the rest of his shirt out of his mouth moaning at that, but he feels the fabric stuffed back into his mouth a second later. "No, no, let me see you," Mag says, "You love showing yourself off for me, don't you?" His thrusts start to get faster, and Lyco barely manages to keep up with his pace. "Yeah, you could've spent all night here just drinking in everyone staring at you, but I got so lucky, I get to keep you all to my— _hah_ —”

That's all the warning Lyco gets before he feels everything go warm and wet inside, as Mag shudders and bites down on his shoulder so hard it hurts and definitely breaks skin. Lyco groans as Mag's thrusts start to slow down, and he finds himself whining _no, no, no_ , grinding down a little desperately and chasing after that feeling, and then Mag squeezes hard on his cock and starts stroking him faster, almost too fast, until everything sharpens to a point at once and he's coming, ink spilling all over Mag's hand and everywhere else besides.

Mag wipes his hand off on a clean patch of Lyco's stomach, then gently eases his shirt back down. Dimly, Lyco hopes that the blue-green ink will blend in with the blue of his tank top, but then the music changes again, and the last of his worries are gently shoved out of his mind.

He waits for Mag to pull out, but his hands are firmly planted on Lyco's hips again, holding him without moving as they both breathe into each other's mouths. It's almost uncomfortable, but he relaxes into it easily, basking in the new sensation of being held like this.

"I think I'm feeling up for another round," Mag says after a little while, "And it looks like you are too."

He does? He's not sure how ready he is for anything as intense as that, but—

Mag puts a hand to his cheek and smiles at him, and the room seems to spin.

"Yeah," Lyco hears himself say, "Sounds good."


End file.
